


JWP 2019 #12: The Women of Conan Doyle

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, POV Female Character, Prompt Fic, Spoilers for The Adventure of the Illustrious Client
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 10:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19789321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: Kitty Winter reflects after reading The Adventure of the Illustrious Client. Written for JWP 2019 #12.





	JWP 2019 #12: The Women of Conan Doyle

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: MAJOR spoilers for events of The Adventure of the Illustrious Client. Written in a huge rush. You have been warned.

It was nothing like how the newspapers told it. It wasn’t much like how the doctor wrote it up later in his little story for the Strand, neither. That at least I could understand. From the very moment I met him, it was plain that Doctor Watson was a gentleman to the bone, honorable and kind in ways that’s almost unheard-of outside of storybooks. And unlike those fellows you read about in books, he’s got some brains, too.

Truth to be told, I hardly noticed the doctor at first. I was too excited, and too angry, to focus on much beyond the possibility that at last I might have my revenge on Adelbert. Porky had said that hated name, and I could hardly think of anything else. All the same, he tried to prepare me on the cab ride over.

“He’s not like anyone you’ve ever met, Puss, or ever like to.” Those dark, sharp eyes of his were lively with anticipation, but also with an unusual bit of respect. “Mr Holmes ain’t half human, if you ask me, but he’s more clever than the Devil himself. Don’t bother trying to lie to him, for he’ll see right through you like you’re a sheet of glass.”

“He’ll need to be smarter than the Devil if he’s on Adelbert’s track, and luckier too,” I said, and I knew all too well how true that was.

So I was in no state to notice Doctor Watson when he arrived at Baker Street in Mr Holmes’ wake, even if Mr Holmes wasn’t the sort to demand all the attention in the room. And I didn’t notice him, not at first. His account of that meeting paints me much more of a lady than I ever was, even before I was dragged down into the mud. I swore a great deal more than he wrote in his account, and spoke of things that should have curled the hair of any gentleman. But there was only kindness in his manner when he asked if I needed a cab home when I took my leave of them. Not disgust, not pity – just courtesy, and basic decency.

That’s when I first really noticed the man. Kindness shines out like coins in a gutter – rare and welcome in the life I’ve lived. It surprised me enough that I told them my address as part of assuring them – but mostly the doctor – that I knew how to take care of myself, and that I was well used to traveling alone.

It’s just as well that I did. Two days after I went with Mr Holmes to speak with Adelbert’s latest victim – that maddeningly icy, beautiful fool – Doctor Watson himself came to my door.

“The Baron sent men to try and kill Holmes,” he told me, his words clipped with urgency, “and Holmes has no doubt that he will attempt your life as well. I must get you to safety immediately.”

I should have been more frightened than I was. I knew better than most exactly what Adelbert was capable of, and how deep his pockets were. But I managed to keep calm somehow. I gathered up the few things I did not care to lose – it was little enough – and followed Doctor Watson down to a waiting cab.

It was only after we were underway that I had the chance to see how worried the doctor was. He did his best to hide it, but it was clear enough that something was weighing heavily on his mind. Knowing what I did, it wasn’t hard to guess what was wrong. “How badly was Mr Holmes hurt?”

Doctor Watson’s jaw tightened. “The doctors may know more by the time I return.”

“But you’re a doctor. Shouldn’t you be with him?”

For the tiniest moment, Doctor Watson’s calm mask slipped. I saw the desperate longing of a man who wanted nothing more than to be elsewhere. But he shook his head. “No. Holmes made it clear that your safety is of utmost importance. I’m exactly where he needs me to be.” He gave me a smile. “And don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re well hidden, and comfortable too.”

I used to make fun of men who claimed duty came first, because I’d seen how hollow those words were. Doctor Watson never said those words, but he demonstrated the truth of them. He not only got me settled as a respected guest in a pleasant house on the outskirts of London, but he took time to make sure I was comfortable, and that the family sheltering me was comfortable too. He stayed until he was fully satisfied everything was settled and as well as it could be. Only then did he leave to go back to Mr Holmes.

The papers were full of alarming reports about Mr Holmes that night, and in the next days. My hosts were full of concern and prayers for him, and for Doctor Watson too. They freely told me how both men had helped them in the past. They also didn’t ask me too many questions, respecting my answer when I said I didn’t want to bring trouble down on their house. And that was true.

I also wanted to have options, if Mr Holmes died, if Adelbert’s men found me. I told my hosts that I needed to pay a visit to a chemist. The wife was good enough to lend me a hat and shawl, to help disguise me, and to come with me to the shop. It was simple enough to acquire the bottle I wanted.

Mr Holmes found me first. It was early evening on the day following my little shopping expedition. He appeared at the house looking half like a ghost. His skin was very pale where it wasn’t turning dark with bruises, and his hat couldn’t hide the bandages on his head.

The family greeted him with cries of joy and offers of everything from refreshment to a bed to rest in, but he only had eyes for me. “I need you to help me retrieve that book,” he said, his voice low. “It’s our only chance to ruin the Baron’s plans. Watson will meet with him tonight, a ruse that will serve as a distraction, but every minute will count. Will you come with me and help me find it?”

Asking someone like Doctor Watson to try and fool Adelbert was like asking a mouse to chase off a dog. It might prove a very different distraction than Mr Holmes had planned, with the doctor winding up in a worse state than the detective. “I am with you, as I said before. Let me just get my shawl.”

Unlike Doctor Watson, Mr Holmes did not say much to me on that cab-ride to Adelbert’s fancy house in Kensington. He was busy with his thoughts. Sneaking onto the grounds was far easier than I had imagined it could be, and I wondered if Mr Holmes had bribed a servant to tell him the best path, or look the other way, or if it had always been so easy. I’d always thought it so secure when I lived here, and had never dreamed trying to breach that security once I’d left.

“Which window is the inner study?” Mr Holmes asked, his voice barely reaching my ears. He seemed to expect that I’d point it out, not make for it myself. I reached it first, but he was the one to jimmy it, neat as you please. He helped me up and over the sill before scrambling up himself. His eyes lit on the desk. He gestured, clearly asking me which drawer without making a sound.

It was locked, as it had not been in the days I lived with him, but Mr Holmes was ready with a pick-lock. Voices rose in the outer study, one hatefully familiar and filled with well-remembered rage. Mr Holmes’ eyes widened for just a moment before he wrenched the drawer open.

In that moment, I saw every bit as much worry as I’d seen in Doctor Watson’s eyes, when he came to me after Mr Holmes had been attacked. I saw the same determination to finish what he’d started, despite wanting with all his soul to rush to his friend’s side.

It would be pretty to say that this knowledge was part of what prompted me to do what I did. That the determination of Doctor Watson and Mr Holmes to do whatever it took to bring Adelbert down, even risking each other, brought out something noble in me, too.

I can say that it was part of what prompted me to push Mr Holmes out of the window, once he had the book, once it was clear that we both couldn’t get clear before Adelbert rushed into the room. But I didn’t throw the vitriol for him, or for Doctor Watson, or for that silly de Merville girl.

I looked into Adelbert’s enraged, surprised face, and I smiled, and I threw the acid, all for myself. Because I had all the reasons in the world, and because I would be the one that laid him low, just as I’d sworn to do. I threw it, and I made sure I hit my mark, before following Mr Holmes out that window.

No, I was never the lady Doctor Watson pictured me as in his story. But I was the rightful hand of Justice, the one who finally personally delivered the bill for Adelbert’s sins. Doctor Watson’s story managed to acknowledge that, at least to some degree, and I like to think that he really did understand.

My life would have been far different, had I had the wits to find and keep someone like him at my side, like Mr Holmes has done. I wish my heart had been wiser, but in the end, I’m just as much of a fool as any of Adelbert’s other women.

I still hate the man, even now that he is a miserable, blind cripple, in constant pain that will last all his days. I could not hate him so much, had I not loved him so well.


End file.
